She knoweth neither way nor end: In dark despair, full soon, She will not mock the gracious friend With prayer for any boon.
Higher than love could dream or dare To ask, he them will set; They shall his cup and baptism share, And share his kingdom yet!
They, entering at his palace-door, Will shun the lofty seat; Will gird themselves, and water pour, And wash each other's feet;
Then down beside their lowly Lord On the Father's throne shall sit: For them who godlike help afford God hath prepared it.
"Grant, Lord, her prayer, and let her go; She crieth after us." Nay, to the dogs ye cast it so; Serve not a woman thus.
Their pride, by condescension fed, He shapes with teaching tongue: "It is not meet the children's bread To little dogs be flung."
The words, for tender heart so sore, His voice did seem to rue; The gentle wrath his countenance wore, With her had not to do.
He makes her share the hurt of good, Takes what she would have lent, That those proud men their evil mood May see, and so repent;
And that the hidden faith in her May burst in soaring flame: With childhood deeper, holier, Is birthright not the same?
Ill names, of proud religion born-- She'll wear the worst that comes; Will clothe her, patient, in their scorn, To share the healing crumbs!
"Truth, Lord; and yet the puppies small Under the table eat The crumbs the little ones let fall-- That is not thought unmeet."
The prayer rebuff could not amate Was not like water spilt: "O woman, but thy faith is great! Be it even as thou wilt."
Thrice happy she who yet will dare, Who, baffled, prayeth still! He, if he may, will grant her prayer In fulness of _her_ will!
Forth from the city, with the load That makes the trampling low, They walk along the dreary road That dust and ashes go.
The other way, toward the gate Their trampling strong and loud, With hope of liberty elate, Comes on another crowd.
Nearer and nearer draw the twain-- One with a wailing cry! How could the Life let such a train Of death and tears go by!
"Weep not," he said, and touched the bier: They stand, the dead who bear; The mother knows nor hope nor fear-- He waits not for her prayer.
"Young man, I say to thee, arise." Who hears, he must obey: Up starts the body; wide the eyes Flash wonder and dismay.